


Simon Says

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [48]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Consequences of Corruption, Gen, International Confederation of Wizards (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: When a routine hot call comes in, Team One dispatches and plunges straight into the twisted, tangled web of the International Confederation of Wizards as Magical Canada’s government embarks on a campaign of lies and deception in their fight to keep the ICW out of Canada.
Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [48]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/538363
Comments: 38
Kudos: 19





	1. The Easiest Takedown Ever

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the forty-eighth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Just Another Birthday".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

Blades whirred, the engine powering those blades humming away in the background. Through the front windscreen, a small, deserted island appeared out of the water and slowly grew larger as the craft approached it. The pilot glanced over at the copilot, confusion flashing across his face.

“We got LEOs out here?” he asked incredulously over the helicopter’s intercom.

“Yeah,” one of the backseaters called. “We got civilians out here, too.”

Pilot and copilot traded skeptical looks…looks that vanished as they drew close enough to see a group of people on the island’s shore, all of them dressed in archaic clothing and most of them gawping up at the helicopter approaching. The pilot tipped the chopper’s nose farther forward, increasing speed now that he was _sure_ they weren’t on a wild goose chase, way out in the middle of nowhere.

There was a soft gasp from behind the two pilots and the distinct sound of someone grabbing hold of the rear cabin’s brace bar; the pilot smirked to himself. So it _was_ true…the negotiator rumored to be skilled enough to talk down a lit stick of dynamite was afraid of flying. The smirk grew wider as the helicopter’s nose tipped even farther forward, even as he slowed down to begin the descent.

“Burgeo Tower, Ranger Two Eight Nine Alpha Uniform, we got ‘em, over,” he reported over the radio.

“Two Eight Nine Alpha Uniform, Burgeo Tower. Confirm evacuation numbers, over.”

“Roger, Burgeo Tower. Looks like we got approximately seventy individuals requiring evac, over.”

Silence hovered over the radio, but the pilot was unconcerned. It would take headquarters some time to figure out how to evacuate all the stranded civilians. He took the ‘copter downwards, angling for a small strip of ground that jutted out into the water, a strip _just_ large enough to serve as an impromptu landing pad. A grin crossed his face, one that was shared with his copilot at the relieved sigh that came from one of their passengers as they touched down.

Only two of the stranded civilians came over to the helicopter as the passengers disembarked. The eavesdropping pilot arched a curious brow as a blonde woman with more than a bit of gray in her bedraggled hair spoke to their aviophobic passenger, her voice both sorrowful and resigned.

“Looks like we’re part of your world now, Sergeant.”

* * * * *

_136 hours earlier (6 days earlier)_

The sound of the alarm cut through Team One’s usual workout, bringing it to a screeching halt; the team scrambled out of the workout room and into their uniforms, donning bulletproof and equipment vests with record speed.

Greg Parker, who’d only just joined his team in the workout room after finishing his paperwork, was the first to Winnie’s desk. “What do we got?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the alarm.

“10-90, bank robbery in progress, sir,” Winnie reported, “Teller tripped the silent alarm.”

“Copy that; address?”

“Sending it to your phones.”

_Good girl._ The Sergeant gave his dispatcher a brisk nod and turned towards his team leader, arching a brow in question. “Wordy, Sam, and Lou’ve got the trucks,” Ed informed his boss. “We’re ready to roll.”

“Okay, let’s go keep the peace,” Greg decided.

* * * * *

Cars fled to the side as three black trucks roared up the road, lights flashing and sirens wailing. Inside the second truck, Parker frowned as he inspected what little information they had thus far. “All right, team, our subjects are currently robbing a BMO Harris bank. Teller tripped the silent alarm, but Winnie hasn’t found any 911 calls originating from the bank. Subjects likely do not know they’ve been made, so stealth approach.”

“Kill the sirens,” Sam muttered, nodding as Ed immediately snapped off the siren for their truck.

“And let’s kill the lights two blocks from the bank,” the Sergeant added.

“Copy,” Lou acknowledged from his spot in the third truck.

“Spike, blueprints?”

The bomb tech’s fingers flew on his laptop. “Bringing ‘em up now, Sarge.” Another few seconds of clicking produced the requested info. “Boss, it’s a small bank, but they’ve got lots of safe deposit boxes, plus a vault.”

“A nice plum for our subjects,” Ed growled.

“Not as juicy as some,” Spike agreed, “But not exactly lean pickings either.” He glanced over the blueprints again. “Sarge, if they don’t spot us, we can catch ‘em in a pincer movement,” he suggested. “Loading dock plus what looks like an employee entrance lets us in on both sides.”

“Okay, let’s do that,” Ed decided. “Hit ‘em hard, take them down before they can escalate.”

“Sounds good to me,” the Boss agreed. “End this before anyone gets hurt.” While the Sergeant wasn’t unwilling to negotiate, bank robberies usually only needed negotiation if something went wrong – translation: hostages were taken.

* * * * *

“Police! Hands in the air!”

“Strategic Response Unit! Weapons on the ground!”

“Hands! Lemme see your hands!”

“Don’t move! Don’t move!”

In a matter of seconds it was over; the robbers were all down and being cuffed – not even a single one had fought back or tried to run. They’d been taken completely off guard, just the way Team One liked it. The tellers and customers looked as if they appreciated the easy rescue just as much; some of the more impatient customers even started calculating the best way to leave without interrupting their busy days any more than they already had been.

But Sam smelled a rat. It had been easy; _way_ too easy. He pulled his captive up and turned the man, inspecting him with a gimlet eye. He was fighting, but it was just weak tugging against the cuffs and – once he was standing – the subject kept trying to move away from Sam. It was as if Sam wasn’t even there. As if the man’s mind was so one-track that he couldn’t comprehend he was in custody and not going anywhere. And his eyes – his eyes were blank, with no life or expression in them whatsoever.

“Boss, got a possible 10-96 **(1)** here,” the sniper hissed.

“10-96?” Sarge questioned, his tone both surprised and skeptical. “Sam?”

Ed swept over, inspecting Sam’s captive, then stilled as the blond quietly pointed to the man’s eyes as well as the futile tugging from the subject. One brow hiked, then Ed directed his words to the subject. “Sir? What’s your name?”

Sam’s arrestee never twitched; he kept trying to move towards the bank vault, where he’d been working before Braddock had taken him down.

The team leader leaned in, waving his hand in front of the subject’s face, close enough that the man _should_ have jerked back, should’ve done _something_. But the man didn’t react – and neither did his eyes. The two officers traded grim looks, both with the same conclusion – _Imperius_.

“10-96 confirmed, Boss,” Ed decided, shifting back. “Guys, check all the subjects.”

“Copy,” rang out from their teammates, along with the sounds of each member of the team testing their captives with a simple question or two. Ed really didn’t expect any of the subjects to pass – if _one_ was _Imperiused_ , then they all were.

Less than a minute later, Parker joined his two constables, his eyes narrowing as he observed the same things Sam and Ed had. The Sergeant turned, his expression going grim and fighting mad as every last one of the robbers failed to respond to any of Team One’s prodding. One by one, his team looked up from their arrestees and shook their heads.

“All right, team,” Parker growled, “Ideas?”

“Let one of ‘em go,” Lou suggested at once. “Follow him right back to the leader.”

Ed nodded thoughtfully; nice, neat, they’d sweep their primary subject up before the idiot wizard even knew what hit him. The only fly in the ointment was…

“What about our witnesses?” Jules questioned, taking advantage of the fact that she and her captive were too far enough away from the former hostages to be overheard.

“Haul the subjects out of the bank before we let one go,” Lou replied. “Some of us can stay here, make it look like we’re cleaning up after the call.”

“And the rest of us track the primary subject,” Sam finished, a note of victory in his voice.

Ed considered Lou’s hasty plan, saw Greg’s eyes cut back to him in silent question. After a moment, the team leader nodded back; as long as they did it fast, Lou’s plan could work. “Lou, Sam, make it happen,” the bald sniper ordered. “Jules, Wordy, Spike, secure our other subjects and start the interviews. Sarge and I will call it in.”

Another trade of looks and the Sergeant turned away, pulling out his cellphone to call Madame Locksley; the sooner they could get the subject wizard into Auror hands, the better. For his part, the team leader casually waited until his boss gave him a subtle signal to report in. “Winnie,” he announced, raising his voice _just_ enough to keep the comm from picking up the Boss’s phone call, “situation contained: subjects in custody, no injuries to any of the hostages; we’re going to interview all the witnesses before heading back to the barn.”

“Sir?” Winnie’s voice was puzzled; Team One didn’t stick around and interview witnesses if a hot call was over – they left that to the unis.

“Just a couple oddities we need to clear up,” Ed obliquely explained, “Sam and Lou are tracking that angle down now.” While the sniper hated lying to Winnie, he _knew_ the call was going to end up in Toth’s hands – classifying a common, easily contained bank robbery wouldn’t fly with the military psychologist. That meant Team One _had_ to keep magic – or any hint thereof – out of the call.

Greg joined the conversation with nary a stumble. “Winnie, get a transport here for the subjects we’ve arrested and contact Detective Onasi; tell him our primary subject should be of interest in one of his ongoing investigations.”

“Copy,” Winnie acknowledged, catching onto what was going on at once. “Anything else?”

“Not for now, Winnie,” the Sergeant replied. “Subjects didn’t do much damage to the bank; I’d say they can open for business again once we finish the interviews.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * * *

Fortunately, their _Imperiused_ subject was too oblivious to realize he’d been handed a bag full of climbing gear. He cheerfully bobbed his head to his ‘compatriots’ and took off with the ‘money’, heading across the street without even checking for traffic. Several cars’ tires screeched as they slid to a halt; the two watching cops cringed, but there were no accidents.

Lou took a step forward, but Sam tugged him back. “Let him get some distance,” the sniper muttered.

“Copy,” Lou muttered back, adjusting the volume on his comm down enough that he and Sam could talk without the transcript picking them up. With any luck, Toth wouldn’t notice that neither he nor Sam were in the transcript during the ‘interview’ portion of the call. A risk, yes, but a necessary one.

Sam kept his eyes on the released subject; when the man reached the halfway point in the next block, he signaled Lou and waved him to the opposite side of the street. The pair hustled across and split, following their bait from both sides, close enough to pounce, but far enough away to keep their target from spooking. Hand signals flashed between the partners as they moved, weaving through pedestrian traffic after the _Imperiused_ bank robber.

The man trotted along, his complete focus on his destination, with no regard for traffic signals, fellow pedestrians, car horns, or angry drivers. Lou cringed at the close calls and near accidents their bait left in his wake, regretting his suggestion more and more by the minute. Two blocks slipped away with no change in direction from the robber. As they reached a third intersection, the man hesitated an instant – the trailing cops stiffened, scanning for their _real_ subject – but then plunged forward into the street.

A truck horn blared; Sam raced forward, cutting through the crowd with ease. He yanked their bait back off the road just before a semi roared past, the speed of its passing ruffling the men’s hair. Wide blue eyes shifted to Lou’s dark ones, both constables unnerved and ready to call their mission quits; catching the subject wizard wasn’t worth a life.

How the _Imperiused_ subject managed to squirm free, Sam wasn’t quite sure, but the man fairly _ran_ across the street, still oblivious to anything save his destination. Braddock and Young followed, determined to end the expedition before any one ended up dead. Then Sam jerked back and waved Lou forward, gesturing to where their bait stood at the head of an alley that led to a small, disused gateway.

A greasy, unkempt wizard slunk out of the shadows, avarice gleaming in small black eyes and on narrow features. Tattered robes hung from haggard shoulders and the man’s movements were quick, jittery; the officers traded glances and readied their submachine guns – they knew a drug addict when they saw one. Their subject reached for the bag, anticipatory joy shining; the _Imperiused_ bank robber stood there, a lax, content expression on his face.

“SRU!”

“Hands in the air!”

The wizard whipped towards the Aurors; yellow-green curses flew and the cops flung themselves sideways, dodging the beams. Sam lost his submachine gun as he rolled, ending up against the alley wall. Trapped, Braddock yanked his sidearm free, braced himself, and fired. His target was thrown back, slamming into the filthy bricks and sliding down to the ground. Lou scrambled to his feet and closed with their subject, harshly flipping him over and cuffing him. Still stunned by the rubber bullet, the wizard’s struggles were feeble, his aggression curbed by his painful introduction to techie weapons.

Sam kept a tight grip on his weapon as he edged back to his feet, but Lou kept the subject pinned until his partner had regained his feet. At the alley head, the would-be robber stood, his expression still one of blank contentment. The constables traded resigned looks and secured the wizard, frisking him for any other weapons before Lou yanked him up and shoved him towards his victim. “Let’s go,” the dark-skinned Auror growled.

The wizard tossed them a half-indignant, half-resigned glare, but said nothing.

Primary subject secured, the two SRU cops hauled their catch – and their bait – back to the bank.

* * * * *

Auror Onasi quietly took the subject wizard into custody, letting his partner collect Team One’s full report along with the call transcript. Roy flipped through the pages, then nodded to his brother before the SRU Aurors left to deal with another hot call. None of the techies noticed the somber expression on Onasi’s face, nor the worried gleam in the depths of deep brown eyes.

[1] Police code for mental patient. Source is ‘https://policecodes.net/ten-codes/’


	2. Administrative Probation

Madame Anne Locksley stepped into the Minister’s office, surprised by his brusque and tart summons. Inside the room Minister Benedict Fudge and his closest advisors awaited her, their expressions, to a man, tense and displeased. In the corner of the room, the Head Unspeakable lurked, his hood down and silvery eyes missing nothing. Though he wasn’t frowning at her, tension vibrated around him just as much as the others in the room. Uncertain and wary, Anne moved forward to her boss’s desk. Though there was a chair available for her, she declined to sit, suspecting she was in some sort of trouble, though for _what_ , she had no idea.

“You sent for me, sir?”

“Yes, I did.” Fudge did not gesture to the chair, instead reaching into a drawer to pull out an Auror report. “You are aware of the attempted bank robbery yesterday?”

Startled, Anne shook her head and reached for the report; the Minister waited while she flipped through the sheaf of parchment, his mouth tightening with each passing minute. At last, the blonde looked up from the report. “We were fortunate, sir.”

“Were we?”

Confused by his ambivalent tone, Anne forged ahead. “Yes, sir, we were. Team One was able to identify the situation and contain it before things could escalate any further. The Muggles have no idea magic was involved and the wizard in question is safely in custody.”

The Head Unspeakable cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention. “I must concur with Madame Locksley, Minister. Team One’s intervention _was_ sufficient to prevent any Statute of Secrecy breaches.”

“Not good enough,” a man with dark auburn hair sneered, icy emerald eyes flashing.

“Charles.” At the Minister’s rebuke, his advisor fell silent, though his disdain was clear. Fudge turned back to Locksley. “Bury this,” he ordered, pointing at the report. “Ensure that neither our records _nor_ the Muggles’ records contain any _hint_ this ever happened.”

“Sir, that’s impossible,” Madame Locksley protested. “Team One’s calls are a matter of record. They are stored in multiple locations and _this_ call wasn’t classified under the Official Secrets Act.”

“It wasn’t?” the Head Unspeakable inquired, though his voice was level. Unsurprised.

“No, it wasn’t.” Anne sighed, her eyes flicking down to the sheaf of parchment. “According to _this_ report, Auror Sergeant Parker and his team believed the call itself was too easily contained. Had they classified a simple robbery, the psychologist keeping an eye on their unit would’ve become suspicious. Thanks to that Death Eater, he _already_ has information that was kept out of Parker’s Muggle personnel file and might well uncover the magical world if he’s given any more clues to work with.”

“He’s a Muggle,” a haughty blonde opined. “ _Obliviate_ him and have done.”

“We _can’t_ ,” Anne countered. “He is too highly placed in the Muggle military – we would create _more_ suspicion, not less.” She drew in a breath. “This incident is now part of Team One’s official record – removing it would be difficult at best.”

“But it _could_ be done?” the Minister pressed.

Locksley considered, nibbling her lip and regarding the report again. “It _might_ ,” she finally replied. “But it would be difficult and depend on a number of factors.”

“It _must_ be done,” Charles cried. Again the Minister stilled his advisor with an upraised hand.

Regarding his subordinate, Fudge’s tight jaw and furious eyes offered no escape. “See that the report is removed from public record as quickly and _quietly_ as possible, Madame Locksley.”

“I don’t understand, sir. The incident was easily contained and our Aurors performed admirably.” Why risk her Aurors over such a minor call?

“They did,” the Head Unspeakable agreed. “But unfortunately, that matters little at present.” He stepped forward, ignoring the glares from the Minister’s flock of advisors. “I’m afraid Magical Canada finds itself at an impasse, Anne.”

Before Anne could press for more information, Minister Fudge interrupted. “It must be done!” he snapped irritably. “The _why_ does not matter.”

“But it does matter,” the Head Unspeakable countered, serene and unperturbed by the redoubled glares. “In recent times,” he continued, “the ICW has expressed… _concern_ …over the number of incidents occurring on our shores.”

Understanding uncurled. “Risks to the Statute of Secrecy.”

A firm nod. “Precisely. For some months we have been on administrative probation.”

Anne gasped, one hand flying up to her chest while the other clutched the report in a white knuckled grip.

“I’m sure you are aware of what I speak,” the Unspeakable murmured. “The chain of events that first drew Team One into our world, the many times one incident or another has endangered the Statute, all of this has been deeply troubling to the ICW. Moffet’s multiple attempts to spark a war between worlds. Auror Lane’s near death at the hands of his Wiccan girlfriend.”

“The Wild Mages,” Charles hissed resentfully.

“Sir, some of those were not our fault,” Locksley protested. “Lord Malfoy _arrested_ one of _my_ Aurors in the middle of a Muggle police station. _That_ should be the Brits’ problem, _not_ ours.”

“True enough,” the Head Unspeakable soothed. “Not _all_ of the incidents have been laid at Canada’s door. However, enough _have_ been to make any additional incidents…a severe problem.”

“What sort of problem?”

“An audit,” another advisor replied, his thick horn rimmed glasses obscuring dark blue eyes and his hair a thinning mop of brunet strands.

Another gasp escaped. An ICW audit was the first step towards removing Magical Canada’s right of self-government. More, any investigation would uncover her non-magical Aurors, threatening _them_ almost as much as it threatened Canada. Determination filled her face and soaked her frame. She _would_ protect her world and her people. It was the _least_ she could do, especially after betraying Parker and her nephew to Moffet’s ‘tender’ mercies.

“I’ll take care of it, sir.”

The Minister eyed her, skeptical, then glanced back at his advisors. They examined her, then two of them inclined their heads. Turning back to her, the Minister replied, “See that you do, Madame Locksley. See that you do.”

* * * * *

Anne strode back towards the Auror Division, her pace brisk and expression set. A shadow detached itself from an adjoining hallway and forced her to a halt. “Yes?”

“A moment of your time, Madame.” The Head Unspeakable bowed, but Anne regarded him suspiciously.

“Very well, but I have much to do and not much time to do it in.”

“Yes,” the other said, his words more acknowledgment than agreement. “Have you considered what you will have to ask of your Aurors?”

Anne deflated a trifle, though her voice remained firm. “I have.”

“They will not thank you for violating their honor.”

“Honor means nothing to a corpse,” Anne retorted, bristling. “They know too much. _Obliviating_ them now is a death sentence.”

“Although I must agree,” the Head Unspeakable said, “ _They_ will not see it that way. They will see only that you wish them to cheat and lie, thus impugning their honor. I do not call them _Knights_ in mere jest; they would put many a knight of old to shame.”

“How then, would _you_ protect them?” Anne demanded harshly. “When they are _dead_ because of their _honor_ , ask them if _honor_ matters.” A sneer. “The silence will be your answer.”

There was no reply for several seconds. Finally, the Head Unspeakable bowed his head, though a glint remained in silver eyes – a glint of knowledge Anne did not possess. “I suggest, Madame, that you consider my words most carefully. It is time to pick a side, Madame Locksley. Our world or _their_ world.”

Dark gray eyes flashed. “I will _never_ betray our world.” Without waiting for a reply, Locksley whirled and stalked away, towards the safety of her office.

Behind her, the Unspeakable smiled sorrowfully. “Loyal indeed,” he murmured to himself. “But loyal to whom? We shall see.”

* * * * *

Anne gazed down at the report on her desk, a shudder working its way through her frame. Honor. Truth. _Justice_. All things she had sworn to uphold. All things the Minister now demanded she violate. For in burying this incident, she would be forced to let the criminal wizard go free, lest his trial endanger all she was about to do. Any he hurt – or killed – their blood would be on _her_ hands.

But wasn’t it worth it? To keep her government safe and stable…to give it the respite it desperately needed until scrutiny fell away. She wasn’t sure and that frightened her. She _wanted_ to be sure, she _needed_ to be sure.

_“Time to pick a side…”_

Her chin came up. “I have,” she murmured to the empty room. One hand reached for her Muggle cell phone. Slim fingers pressed the buttons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As my American readers already know, this Thursday (November 28th, 2019) is Thanksgiving. And as all my readers know, I ran a poll this autumn on which one of two Side-Stories ya'll wanted to read first. Well, that time has now come, so on Thanksgiving, I'll be posting "Tech-born Pureblood". I hope everyone enjoys and Happy Thanksgiving 2019!


	3. Caught in the Middle

“You want me to _what_?”

“Bury this,” Madame Locksley repeated, dropping the report in front of her Sergeant.

Greg fixed his superior with a glare, sparks flying from topaz-hard eyes. “No.”

Locksley returned his glare with one of her own. “That wasn’t a request, Auror Sergeant Parker.”

“You want my team to falsify a report we’ve _already_ turned in and tamper with evidence. It’s not happening.”

“Auror Scarlatti is quite capable of removing this call and its associated reports from your computer system. The Obliviators will handle the rest.”

Parker bristled. “Tampering with evidence is a _crime_ , _Commander_ , and I won’t be a party to it,” he snapped. “Nor do I intend to stand by and _let_ you erase memories over a successful hot call!” Fury dropped lower, but no less intense. “I don’t know _who_ you’re trying to protect with this stunt, but my _team_ won’t help you do it. Good day, ma’am.”

* * * * *

Anne’s fists clenched as her Auror stalked out of her office, firmly closing the door behind him and leaving her in _no_ doubt of his opinion of her orders. Angry, hurt, perhaps even feeling a bit betrayed by her actions. He didn’t – couldn’t – understand that she _wasn’t_ trying to protect the drug addict who’d put them all in this terrible mess. She was trying to protect _him_. Protect his team. Although his team’s status was an open secret in Magical Canada, the ICW _didn’t_ know. And never _would_ , if she had her way.

Gray eyes narrowed in determination. If _Parker_ wouldn’t bury the report, she would find someone who _would_. She couldn’t fail. And she wouldn’t.

* * * * *

“Not happening,” Auror Lane growled, offended she was even asking. “The Boss told you ‘no’.”

“Contrary to popular opinion, Auror Lane, Sergeant Parker does _not_ have veto power over my orders.”

“He does this time.” The tall constable was gone before she could reply. As the door swung shut, Anne rubbed her forehead. _Bloody honor._

* * * * *

Both hands waved in a ‘stop’ motion before Anne could finish her sentence. “No way!” Scarlatti blurted. “Toth would bust us so fast, we wouldn’t even have time to pack!”

“The Obliviators can handle him,” Anne promised.

If anything, the promise only alarmed Scarlatti further. “Nah-uh! Not even if the _Boss_ told me to.”

The bomb tech fled without seeing Anne drop her head in her hands, desperation and despair mixing. She couldn’t fail! She just couldn’t…

* * * * *

“Please, Samuel, tell me you’ll do it.” She was begging and she didn’t care.

Her nephew regarded her, expression closed and eyes hooded. “Why? Why should I break the law for you?”

Locksley’s throat closed. She couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t risk it, not with the ICW audit hanging over all their heads, string fraying even as her nephew examined her. “It’s important,” Anne whispered, unable to muster any other reply.

“Not important enough for you to tell me the truth.” Sam turned away, though not before she spied a trace of shine in his eyes. “You know what? Forget it; I’m not risking my spot on Team One for you.”

* * * * *

She didn’t bother asking the remaining Team One members – clearly she was wasting valuable time on _them_. Instead, she summoned Team Three’s Sergeant to her office and laid out what she _needed_ his team to do.

“Lemme get this straight. You ask half of Team One to bury this and they say no, so you come to me?” The stout, muscled man folded his arms, fixing her with a skeptical expression underneath his short black hair. “They’ll be on the lookout for you tryin’ this with someone else – _no_ _one’s_ getting close to that report, not a chance.”

“You don’t seem to understand me, Sergeant Cooper,” Anne replied coldly. “I require this report to disappear. The _how_ does not concern me, nor do the obstacles.”

“And what happens to the subject?”

Her silence was answer enough.

The Auror shook his head. “I’m not crossing Parker. And I’m not letting a bank-robbing, mind-controlling scut go free just ‘cause _you_ feel like givin’ him a pass.” He left without a backward glance.

_Damn their honor._

* * * * *

“How bad is it, ma’am?”

Anne regarded Giles, hiding none of her fear and tension. “If the ICW finds out, we’ll be audited.”

Her Auror froze. “Can we…?”

A solemn shake of the head. “No, Giles. If the ICW comes here, they’ll find out.”

“Merlin’s beard…” The wizard swallowed harshly. “I’ll talk to them,” he promised.

“Giles. They can’t know about the ICW.”

“What? Why?”

“Minister Fudge’s orders,” Anne replied. “He does _not_ want anyone outside the Ministry to know.”

“They’re Aurors!”

“And still employed as Muggle police officers!”

“So am I!”

“ _You_ are one of us,” Locksley snapped.

Her subordinate stilled, eyes wide as they fixed on her face. Unspoken, but heard all too clearly was the final, _And they’re not._

“Do we have a problem, Auror Onasi?”

Hazel narrowed, studying her. “No, ma’am.”

* * * * *

“For Merlin’s sake, Parker, it’s just _one_ time,” Onasi begged. “Just this once and I promise we’ll never ask again.”

“You can’t promise that,” Parker countered quietly. “We let this guy walk and he’ll try again. Addicts do whatever they have to, Giles; it’s a miracle _my_ team got the call _this_ time.”

Out of the corner of his eye Greg saw the Auror freeze – Onasi hadn’t thought of that.

Turning to face the other man head on, the Sergeant continued, “Even without that, Giles, you still can’t promise this would be the only time. Once Commander Locksley knows she can get us to bury hot calls, what’s stopping her from demanding we bury others?” A sardonic twist of the mouth. “What’s stopping her _superiors_ from doing that?”

He hadn’t been sure, but Giles flinched, confirming his suspicions. One hand raked through brown hair, displacing trademark dangling locks for a moment. Then the detective drew in a deep breath, desperation flashing. “Please, Sarge,” he whispered, defeat glowing. “There’s more at stake than you know.”

Both brows hiked and Greg suppressed a sharp indrawn breath. Giles had _never_ referred to him as ‘Sarge’ before. Never. Hazel studied the other intently, searching for some reason, some explanation.

“I can’t.”

_Can’t or won’t?_ Topaz narrowed.

“ _Can’t_ ,” Giles hissed, frustration peeking through defeat. “Min…Minster’s orders.”

Greg frowned. “What does the Minister of Magic have to do with trying to bury a successful hot call?”

The other Auror drew breath, then shook his head and turned away. “Will you do it? Please?”

If the _Minister_ was involved… Parker’s jaw tightened and he met Giles’ gaze. “No.” His job was to _protect_ people, not tamper with evidence and let a dangerous criminal loose.

Utter despair whipped around to face him and Greg swore he saw Giles begin to crumple before he vanished with a _crack_.

* * * * *

The Sergeant listened to his _nipotes_ chatter away about their day that evening, nudging his food around his plate and still attempting to puzzle out why _Giles_ would advocate _tampering_ with evidence. Although Parker knew, intellectually, that Madame Locksley’s betrayal of his team had been out of fear for her daughter’s life, it didn’t change his instinctive distrust. She’d been willing to bend truth, justice, and the law once – how easy had it been for the Minister to talk her into bending her morals again?

But _Giles_? The man who’d lost his _family_ because he’d refused to sell his soul? Why on _Earth_ was _he_ dancing to Locksley’s tune? And what was he hiding? What was so at stake that the Minister of Magic was involved? What was it that Onasi couldn’t explain?

Greg huffed, his fork pushing cold green beans to the opposite side of his plate. A chunk of steak materialized, steam rising. Bemused, Parker glanced up at his _nipotes_ , both of them watching with concern glittering.

“Giving up steak now, _mio nipote_?”

“If you’ll eat it.”

A wry grin surfaced and he scooped up his knife. As he cut the meat into smaller chunks, the negotiator flicked his gaze between the plate and his kids. “Have I told you what Locksley asked my team to do?”

“Does it have something to do with Uncle Spike turning up at two in the morning this weekend?” Alanna asked.

Savoring his first bite, Greg nearly choked on laughter, though Spike’s panic had been anything but amusing at the time. After a few seconds, he nodded.

“What’s going on?” Concern and wariness mixed in his nephew’s voice.

A sigh escaped, humor fleeing. “She wants us to tamper with evidence and bury our last hot call.”

“What? Why?” Lance demanded, beating his sister to the punch by milliseconds.

“She refused to explain. Same with Giles.”

“ _Auror Onasi_ wants you to do it?” Alanna exclaimed, violet going wide at the thought.

“He does,” Greg confirmed softly. Another sigh escaped at the clear question on his _nipotes_ ’ faces. “I’m not going to and neither is the rest of the team. But…”

“You wanna know what’s going on?”

“Exactly.”

The Sergeant cocked his head when the teens withdrew, whispering to each other as they ducked into the living room. Gryphon hearing caught a few words, but the pair knew his hearing better than even his team did. Shrugging, he went back to his meal, choking down the cold vegetables before demolishing his steak.

When his _nipotes_ returned, he looked up, expectation fading at their uncertain expressions. “Well?”

A swift trade of glances preceded Lance’s reply. “We don’t know,” he admitted, ducking his head. “But, um, we might know who does.”

“Who?”

His kids looked at him, glanced at each other, then turned back and shrugged.

“Merlin,” they said together.


	4. The International Confederation of Wizards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following explanation is largely from canoncansodoff’s story “Muggle Summer, Wizard’s Fall”. While the story _can_ be found on Fanfiction.net, you’d be better off finding it via a search engine as canoncansodoff posted it on fanficauthors.net with expanded, edited chapters. Don’t let the lower chapter count on the second site fool you…most of the chapters on fanficauthors have at least 3 fanfiction chapters combined into one, so each page is ridiculously long.
> 
> That said, the story isn't for everyone and I rather wish it didn't dance _quite_ so close to TMI (Too Much Information) when it comes to the romances. Even so, there are a number of truly intriguing theories and this story might be considered an inspiration for my series. Before I read "Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall", I'd never encountered any _Harry Potter_ stories that give 'Muggles' a leading role in taking out Voldie and his minions – and totally kick _butt_ doing it!

Greg Parker looked up from his usual mound of white paper when the first whisper of sound entered the briefing room. Beneath short black hair and framed by wide, stuck out ears, Merlin’s sapphire eyes were grave. A frown twisted laugh lines, deep and foreboding. “I received your message, Sergeant.”

“How bad is it?”

“A dementor attack would be preferable,” the warlock drawled, earning a wide-eyed horrified stare. “Is Team Three here?”

“No, they’re off till Friday. I’ll get my team in here.” Without waiting for a reply, the Sergeant pushed himself up and strode out to the workout room. “Briefing room,” he barked, not waiting to see if his constables obeyed before he whirled and stalked back, resisting the temptation to send his paperwork flying.

Merlin was afraid…a centuries old warlock was _afraid_ and _not_ for himself. Which meant his people were at risk. By _refusing_ Locksley, he’d endangered his _team_. Rage and terror pulsed in equal measure; Greg paced back and forth, hazel flicking from Merlin to the doorway in a ping-pong motion as he moved.

Tension rose, stifling the room and driving the temperature up as the rest of Team One arrived, alert for trouble. Parker gestured to the chairs, but opted to remain standing, gryphon instincts humming and searching for an appropriate target. Merlin waited for movement to halt and the briefing room door to close before he stepped to the center of attention, his gaze fixing on the negotiator’s.

“Sergeant Parker, if you intend to start blaming yourself for behaving _honorably_ , _don’t_. This situation is _entirely_ the Ministry’s fault; had they taken action _long_ before now, we would not be here.” Sapphire narrowed. “Do you understand?”

Greg jerked a nod.

Sighing, Merlin closed his eyes briefly and began to explain. “Your Sergeant contacted me yesterday to inquire as to why the Ministry is so intent on burying your last hot call.”

“And?” Ed half-asked, half-demanded.

“How familiar are you with the International Confederation of Wizards?”

The team traded glances, confusion and bewilderment evident. Lou tilted his head to the side and spoke before the warlock could. “Hey, didn’t Giles mention we could’ve gone to ‘em when Wordy got arrested?”

Sam whistled, his own memory sparking. “Yeah, but he didn’t want to. Said they’d be mad about us being Aurors.”

“I’m afraid, Auror Braddock, that ‘mad’ is a severe understatement,” Merlin interjected. “Furious would be more accurate. The phrase ‘foaming at the mouth with rage’ comes to mind.”

Realization swept the room. “She _wasn’t_ trying to protect the _subject_ ,” Spike whispered.

“She was trying to protect _us_ ,” Greg finished.

“A noble intention, but misguided all the same.” Focus flew back to Merlin, his expression graver than ever. “Given the Ministry’s history of inaction, our current situation was utterly inevitable. Fortunately, _you_ are above reproach, a truth that may well be your _only_ protection.”

“Wait.” Wordy rubbed his runic bracelet as he thought. “Why is the ICW involved any way? We stopped the guy, didn’t we?”

“You did,” the warlock agreed. “However, there are laws and treaties to be considered. By treaty, Magical Canada _must_ report any attempted robbery of a technological bank within three days of the attempt, successful or not. Any country that does _not_ leaves itself open to certain…repercussions.”

“What sort of repercussions?” Parker asked, hazel narrowing in consideration.

“Should a Ministry not report incidents which threaten the Statute, the ICW may begin the process to remove that Ministry from power. Sanctions, audits, or even administrative probations are among the punishments used to bring rogue Ministries to heel.” Merlin’s hands rose, fingers weaving together under his chin, gaze intense and thoughtful as he spoke. “Robberies such as the one you thwarted are rare; since Gringotts is barred from investing in the magical world, they tend to invest in your world.”

“They protect their investments,” Ed concluded, earning an absent nod from the warlock.

“In more ways than one. Dye packs used by banks are derived from goblin ink, making the resulting mess resistant to magical cleaning methods. Examples are made of those foolish enough to attempt these crimes. And any illicit money-changers who are caught dealing with robbery suspects tend to…lose their heads.”

“They kill them?” Jules blurted. “Just for that?”

“Jules.” All eyes turned to their Sergeant. “They’re not human.” He shook his head, forestalling his team’s protests. “I’m not condoning it, but they don’t see justice the same way we do.”

“Vengeance is an art form,” Sam added softly. As attention turned to him, he looked up from the slightly hunched position he’d adopted during the warlock’s explanation. “No one crosses a goblin, guys. The more vicious they are towards their enemies, the worse their vengeance is, the more status they gain.”

Wordy cleared his throat. “When Silnok was talking Blackroot into letting me take the Headship, Blackroot asked if he was being merciful. Made it sound like the worst insult in the world.”

“To a goblin, it _would_ be,” Merlin observed, a trace of amusement in his voice. “Regardless, Gringotts’ methods and warnings do keep the criminal element in line. Few would dare a goblin’s wrath, a fact that shields magical governments from ICW scrutiny and prevents a great many secrecy breaches.”

Lou tilted his head to the side and asked, “So…one robbery? That’s enough to get the ICW involved?”

“No,” Merlin replied. “Under normal circumstances, it would take four incidents in a single year to bring the ICW’s attention. However, Magical Canada has suffered a significant number of threats to the Statute over the past several years. They are currently on administrative probation. Last week’s robbery is the final straw so to speak; should the ICW be notified, they _will_ order an extensive audit of Magical Canada’s procedures and personnel.”

“Which would lead them right to _us_ ,” Spike concluded flatly.

“Precisely, Auror Scarlatti.”

* * * * *

Sam felt his throat close, air straining through constricted airways. Of them, only he, Wordy, and the Sarge _legally_ had the right to know about the magical world – though they might nix Sarge’s rights since _he’d_ been the one to suggest techie Aurors. Plus… He blanched. “The _kids_ …”

His Boss’s face drained of color and Merlin’s flinch needed no explanation. The ICW would view the young Wild Mages much as the Ministry did – non-human, fit only to be imprisoned and _experimented_ on. Frankly, Sam considered it a minor miracle the Division of Mysteries hadn’t attempted to outright _kidnap_ the teens.

Wordy rapped the briefing table. “Guys, calm down. We’ve got time, right?” Glancing up at their informant, he asked, “So how does this thing work? The ICW finds out about the robbery and…?”

Merlin tapped his fingers together, still in his hands-under-chin pose. “They will likely send a team of wizards from a number of different countries to audit the Ministry. Examining records, interviewing witnesses and so on. If the incidents continue or the audit reveals an unacceptable level of corruption, then the ICW can revoke the right of self-government until such time as the Ministry has _proven_ it can effectively police its citizens and uphold the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Would they consider ‘Muggle’ Aurors as unacceptable corruption?” Jules inquired shrewdly.

“My first inclination would be ‘Yes,’ Auror Callaghan, but on second thought…I am not sure,” the warlock admitted. Thinking out loud, he mused, “Certainly, they would be furious that mere ‘Muggles’ have been given Auror badges, but if your record is presented…” He trailed off, eyes flicking back and forth for some moments. “If you have _ever_ failed to successfully resolve a magic-side hot call, I have yet to hear of it. An enviable record, one _any_ Auror would be proud of; I cannot _imagine_ that the ICW’s audit team would be unimpressed.”

“Unless they think it’s faked,” Sam muttered.

Merlin sighed. “Certainly not out of the realm of possibilities,” he conceded. “And if the ICW takes control of Magical Canada, they would be _well_ within their rights to act against this entire team. Auror Braddock’s Squib-born status will be no defense, nor Sergeant Parker’s guardianship of the Heirs Calvin.”

“Say what?” Wordy demanded, dumbfounded. “They’d _Obliviate_ all of us?”

“With the possible exception of yourself, Auror Wordsworth,” Merlin confirmed, no humor whatsoever in his expression. “You _are_ a Family Head, after all.” Grimness deepened. “At _this_ point, _Obliviating_ all your knowledge of the magical world would be a death sentence.”

“It’s too much,” Sam whispered.

“Yes.” Sorrow shone. “Your knowledge of the magical world is embedded in too many memories. To remove _that_ would erase a significant portion of your minds, leaving all of you as empty, lingering shells of your former selves. Death would swiftly follow.”

“But _I_ got _Obliviated_ once,” Jules pointed out, frowning in confusion. “The Healers never said anything about it being life-threatening.”

“It was accidental, Jules,” Sam replied before Merlin could ask. “And it was _everything_ , not just magic.”

“Ahhh,” Merlin breathed. “Auror Braddock is correct, Auror Callaghan. An _Obliviate_ that targets your entire memory would not threaten your life, but an _Obliviate_ meant _specifically_ to remove your knowledge of magic would attempt to do that and _only_ that.”

Jules swallowed hard. “We’d lose the last four years.”

“At least,” the warlock agreed. “But more than that, I fear. The skills you have mastered to challenge magicals on a more equal footing, the tactics you have developed to do the same…such an _Obliviate_ would target all of that. You do not just _know_ that magic is real, you have _learned_ how to work alongside it. And _that_ is why it will be so much worse…the _Obliviate_ would take not only your memories, but your skills and talents. With memory scattered and your abilities torn in shards…” He trailed off, the implications clear.

* * * * *

Horror choked the room and Greg slammed his fist sideways into the wall, uncaring that the impact left a dent in the concrete. He should’ve said ‘Yes’, should’ve buried that report so deep _no one_ could find it. Too late. And now everyone he cared for would pay the price. How long, he wondered morbidly, would it take to die, his mind shattered and his magic free to wreck whatever havoc it wished. He might, _might_ succeed in taking his team’s murderers down with him. Unless they realized what they’d unleashed and killed him first. A shudder rippled down his spine – he didn’t want to die. Didn’t want his team to die. Not like this. _Please, God, not like this._

“Can we stop this?” Lou’s voice penetrated; Parker’s head lifted, fledgling hope dawning, only to die at Spike’s response.

“No way. Couldn’t do it even if we wanted to, guys. The computer in the truck is linked to the database here. Calls get recorded on the truck computer, but every time we’re near a hotspot, it starts transmitting the data back here.” Spike hesitated, but Greg gestured for him to elaborate. He might not _understand_ all the technical details, but this time, he _needed_ to hear them. Sighing, the bomb tech continued. “The audio gets sent to Winnie, too, so anything _her_ headset picks up gets recorded and added to the call. Any trace we run, photos, mugshots, police reports…it’s all referenced in the database. I can manage to slide a few minutes out here and there, but a whole call? Can’t be done.”

“Too much to pull,” Lou muttered, earning a head bob from his best friend. “Even if you could wall off that entry in the database…”

“I’d get caught,” the tech finished flatly. “Then we’d be right back where we started, only Toth would pile on, too.”

“There is a possibility,” Merlin announced, his pose still one of deep thought. His words were hesitant, an idea voiced even as its originator considered its worth. “If, perchance, you were to notify the ICW _yourselves_ , you might earn the goodwill of the audit team. In such a circumstance…perhaps leniency could be…bargained for…in exchange for cooperation and…inside information.”

“What information?” Ed asked, frowning. “I don’t want to get mind-wiped, but…”

The warlock gestured for Lane to hear him out. “Cooperation and information in so far as you and your team have been at the heart of many of these…incidents. Factual reports as to what occurred and how the Statute was, ultimately, upheld and further secrecy breaches prevented.”

Relaxing, the sniper concluded, “So basically, like an SIU investigation?”

“Or Internal Affairs?” Wordy tacked on.

“Precisely,” Merlin said.

Greg debated, resting his gaze on each member of his team, waiting for a confirming nod or shrug before moving on. None of them shook their heads in refusal, not that he expected it with their lives on the line. Finally, he turned back to Merlin. “How do we do it?”

“I already did.”

The group whipped around to see a ghost-pale, but determined Giles Onasi in the doorway, Roy at his shoulder. Swallowing, Giles met their astonished gawps; Greg alone spied the fine tremors running through the other man’s entire body – tension and terror all in one. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”

_God help us._


	5. Writ of Inquiry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit once again to canoncansodoff' and his story "Muggle Summer, Wizard's Fall" for the origin country of the post-Dumbledore Supreme Mugwump of the ICW (as well as the concept of the Royal Wizard) and while I'm not directly borrowing his OCs on the inspection team for now, my own OCs are definitely inspired by their predecessors.

At precisely three minutes after seven, five figures appeared in Toronto’s International Portkey Arrivals, their attire, appearance, and, for two of them, lack of wands marking them as _outsiders_. The Japanese Emperor’s Wizard, clad in a forest-green kimono, took the lead as the group departed, flashing their ICW badges at the security Aurors. Behind him, the Norwegian King’s Wizard and the Swedish King’s Witch strode with their final two companions, a senior bureaucrat from the Australian Ministry of Magic and a New Zealander Maori sorcerer, acting as the group’s rearguard.

Neither the Maori sorcerer nor the Emperor’s Wizard carried wands, as they were both skilled with wandless magic, but their three companions walked with hands close to their weapons, wary of their surroundings, though they hid that wariness beneath diplomatic masks. Halfway to the Canadian Minster of Magic’s office, they were accosted by a group of Aurors led by a slender waspish man with horn-rimmed glasses and a thinning mop of brunet hair.

“May I help you?” the wizard inquired, his tone bland and polite, a surprising contrast to narrowed deep blue eyes.

The Emperor’s Wizard inclined his head. “We are an official delegation from the ICW.” He pulled a parchment from his kimono and held the writ up in front of the official. “I am Juushirou Ukitake, charged by the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards to investigate an alleged serious breach in secrecy. Where can we find the official named Monroe Snyder?”

“I am Monroe Snyder and I welcome the ICW’s delegation to Magical Canada.” The unassuming wizard bowed before a glint entered his eyes. “However, as is our right, we invoke the two day waiting period to examine the ICW’s Writ and gather the _relevant_ evidence for your perusal.”

The heavily tattooed Maori sorcerer snorted, a sentiment his Australian counterpart shared. He cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. “Certainly that is your right,” he acknowledged. “But only if your Ministry officially accepts notice of our Writ of Inquiry.”

Aside from a flicker, their host’s pleasant expression never wavered. He merely dipped his chin in acceptance and drew his wand, bringing its tip to the Writ. “I, Monroe Snyder, Third Advisor to the Minister, do hereby accept possession of this Writ of Inquiry.”

The parchment glowed, its magic flaring to life. Satisfied, the Australian wizard smiled and intoned, “The waiting period has now begun. You will, of course, inform your staff of the magical penalties that will automatically fall upon any Ministry employee that knowingly destroys, hides, or alters any evidence associated with the inquiry?”

“Certainly.” A smile emerged, though it never reached furious deep blue eyes. “I will _personally_ welcome you back to the Ministry on Thursday, at precisely 7:13 AM. Until then?” He gestured back towards the International Portkey Division.

“We will remain,” Juushirou declared, his mane of white hair flying as he tossed his head and stared down his opponent.

A flash of pursed lips, then the smile reappeared. Disturbing. The Australian wizard hid his frown as the advisor gave one of his bodyguards a significant glance. The bodyguard’s eyes darted sideways, though he didn’t respond to the glance in any other fashion. “Aurors,” Snyder ordered, “Escort our guests to the outbound Floos and ensure they use enough powder to reach their destination.”

* * * * *

Juushirou frowned to himself as an Auror sat down at the table next to the ICW delegation in the Golden Prime Inn. While a good share of his frown was for the food – Canada’s definition of ‘fresh fish’ left much to be desired in his eyes – it was more than a tad suspicious that they were being approached during the _waiting period_ by an Auror who he’d last seen at Third Advisor Snyder’s side.

“Can we help you?” the Norwegian wizard asked, his voice guarded.

The Auror didn’t respond, instead turning away to order his meal from the waitress. As the waitress bustled away, dark eyes flicked towards the delegation and a folder appeared, dropping onto the ICW’s table next to the Swedish witch. In the time it took for her to check the folder for any malicious spells, the waitress returned with the Auror’s takeaway. Their…informer…was gone before any of them could question him about the mysterious folder.

Both wary and curious, Juushirou held out his hand for the offering. He opened it to find several pieces of parchment, each with a photograph pinned to them. Names, addresses, and a brief summary filled the pages. At the bottom of the stack was a written statement detailing the creation of an ‘Auror Strategic Response Unit’, dated some four years earlier and signed by Canada’s DMLE Director, Madame Locksley. Juushirou felt his magic tingle as he inspected the parchment again. _Surely not…surely no one would be so foolish…_

“Juushirou?” the Australian wizard asked. “What is it?”

Pale, the Japanese wizard replied, “They have Muggle Aurors.”

* * * * *

Solemn, the ICW delegation regarded the home of the one _female_ Muggle Auror, waiting for the lights within to extinguish. Faced with such a _blatant_ violation of the Statute of Secrecy, the group could not afford to hesitate. The longer these… _Muggles_ …knew of the wizarding world, the more dangerous it would become. While cowardly, the female Muggle was the _easiest_ target, allowing the delegation to assess the threat they faced in their self-appointed task. Once _she_ was dealt with, she could be used as bait to lure the rest of the Muggles. Not to their deaths – Juushirou had been _most_ firm upon that point – but certainly to their _Obliviations_.

* * * * *

Jules sighed to herself, surveying her bed. For the first time in weeks, she was on her own; Sam had a dinner date with his aunt and cousin, one he’d invited her to, but she’d turned him down. They couldn’t risk Locksley telling Sarge – while the _wizarding_ world had no rules against members of the same team dating, the Boss sure hadn’t let that stop him _before_. Wrecking months of careful concealment wouldn’t do them any favors, even if it meant her bed was much lonelier and colder than she liked.

Though Jules normally went to bed in only her nightshirt, she was just tired and chilly enough to don her favorite pajama set. The teal shirt, with an owl sleepily regarding the world, joined with loose-fitting leggings, granting her both modesty and warmth. Turning out her bedside lamp, Jules crawled into bed and went to sleep.

* * * * *

“Juushirou? Your orders?”

“We shall capture the Muggle first,” the Japanese wizard murmured. “It was perhaps too convenient that we received this information so quickly. Let us ascertain the _true_ risk to the Statute; perhaps this Muggle has been falsely accused…”

His fellows accepted the decision without a flicker of hesitation.

* * * * *

Jules woke with her arms pinned to her sides; she instinctively struggled, but her body refused to _move_. Her covers pulled back and the constable could only watch as she herself floated up, drifting after her attacker. Panic flooded her soul, but it made no difference; she was helpless.

_Sarge! Help!_

Nothing. Frantic, Jules ‘reached’ for that corner of her mind and soul that wasn’t hers…that was Sarge’s. His anchor…his _claim_ on her. Wordy and Sam, she knew, could influence the anchor, their inborn magic granting them an advantage over their magic-less teammates. But when _Ed_ had been in mortal peril, he’d managed to _communicate_ …or had it been Sarge’s magic, calling for help when Ed couldn’t?

_Sarge!_ She ‘screamed’ the name with all her might, her mind scrabbling over her _one_ link, her _one_ chance. The anchor seemed to vibrate, but silence reigned.

“Release the spell.”

Jules fell, gasping and rolling as she hit the ground, automatically scanning her surroundings. Her captors ranged around her, hemming her in and blocking all exits from her living room. The sniper crouched, making herself as small a target as possible. Five subjects – two wizards and a witch with wands drawn were spaced around the room, the witch by the staircase. A huge man with his face covered in geometric tattoos stood by the door to her kitchen with one hand curled, his taut fingers and long fingernails reminding her of claws, while the final subject stood right in front of her, white hair flowing down past his shoulders, green eyes narrowed in displeasure, and hands clasped behind his back as if he were a principal and she an unruly child.

One black brow hiked and to Jules’ astonishment, her primary captor bowed. “Good evening, Miss Callaghan.”

“Constable.” Just past the African, her phone lurked on the table, but how on Earth could she _get_ to it?

“Of course. I am Juushirou Ukitake, head of the ICW delegation sent here to Canada to…inspect…the Ministry of Magic.”

“And what do you want with me?” Fear pulsed, sending adrenaline shooting through her veins.

He smiled, trying to soothe her, but Jules remained rigid, scanning for an opening even as she remained in her crouch. “I understand you hold the position of _Auror_ , Constable Callaghan.”

No use denying it – she hadn’t reacted to his deliberate mention of magic. The brunette inclined her head, calculating her best course of action even as she met unhappy green eyes.

“How ever did you manage that?” An edge entered her captor’s voice.

Jules cocked her head to the side, letting her own temper flare. “You don’t need _magic_ to protect people.” She paused, a smirk escaping her mask. “You’d be surprised how many wizards underestimate us.”

Unhappiness vanished into a solemn regard and the negotiator felt her eyes narrow. Too calm…he was too calm. A flash of light green sent her rolling sideways, ducking the spell so narrowly that Jules _felt_ it brush her back. Terror choked her, but her memories didn’t vanish. Slumping to the floor, the Auror waited, forcing herself to stillness. She felt herself lifted, but not by magic.

“Return her to her bed and cast another charm,” Juushirou ordered. “Ensure she does not remember our presence or anything of the magical world.”

“What about the other Muggles?” a female voice inquired.

“We will keep her asleep and remain here until her fellows come,” another wizard replied, not an ounce of concern or regret in his tone.

Drawing in a slow, deep breath, Jules bucked; the wizard dropped her and she kicked out as she fell. The others whirled, wands rising, but the SRU constable threw herself forward, sliding under a trio of beams, two red, one green. Pushing off, Jules slammed into her table, one hand reaching for her last chance. The phone spun out of her grasp; she cried out and twisted sideways, grasping for the falling object.

Smartphone and constable hit the ground; a spell brushed her as her hand landed on the screen.

“ _Haven!_ ”

* * * * *

Giles Onasi groaned as his phone shrilled, waking him from a wondrous dream right before he could introduce Roy to his wife, his son, and Revan. Grumbling under his breath, Onasi blearily pulled the phone close to his face, squinting at it. “If this is another idiot…” He froze as the text registered, then bolted out of bed, summoning his jacket, pants, and belt as he ran. The clothing floated after him, only just making it past the door before it slammed shut.

* * * * *

She felt herself slam into the ground, but that was nothing compared to the agony inside her head.

_Not again…_ Not again what? She scrabbled, but her mind remained blank, eerie serenity drifting through her, but it was _wrong_. Alien and _wrong_.

_“Remember…”_

“Can’t…”

Brown eyes squeezed shut. No, no, _no_. _Sarge! Sam! Wordy! Help!_ But who was Sam? And how could Sarge and Wordy help her? Unknowing, Jules began to rock back and forth, staring straight ahead.

_“Remember…”_

“Can’t…I can’t…” _I can’t remember._ It felt like half her soul had been torn away, her memories intertwined with her very essence. The last four years had turned into a black echo in her mind, a yawning chasm she couldn’t _hope_ to cross. One that threatened to swallow her whole.

_Sarge…Sam…Wordy…please help me…_ But who was Sam?

* * * * *

He found her huddled up, shivering and pale in the moonlight that peeked in the safe house’s windows. She was rocking back and forth, her eyes and expression blank, her arms wrapped around her knees as her chin rested in the space between.

“Jules?” A whisper, hope and fear mixing in his breath.

“Can’t…can’t…can’t…”

No…please _Merlin_ , no… “Jules?”

Her phone rested next to her, screen dark…embedded Portkey used, magic spent. Still she rocked, not seeming to have heard him as she muttered the same word, over and over, under her breath. Can’t.

Onasi forced his hands to uncurl, plastered a comforting expression on his face, and reached out, touching her arm. “Jules?” Waited for the blank stare, the puzzled question.

* * * * *

She heard the stranger say her name, but locked in her mind, she couldn’t answer.

_“Remember…”_

“Can’t…”

Hands touched her shoulders, white feathers entered her line of sight. _“Do not be afraid, my dear,”_ the figure whispered in her mind. _“Remember…”_

“Can’t…can’t…” _Sarge…Sam…Wordy…_ Who was Sam? _Someone…please help me… Please…_

Her name again, pleading.

_“Remember…”_

“Can’t…” A twitch of memory, coming from who knew where. Her favorite books as a child. A name, one that sent a thrill through her veins and hope soaring in her fractured soul.

A hand touched her arm, the stranger voicing her name, raw anguish in his eyes.

_Aslan. Please…help me…_

White wings, edged with silver, closed around her. Comfort and safety, peace and freedom. She felt the lion rampant on her arm blaze, sending streaks of white and pink across her vision.

_“Well done, my dear.”_

* * * * *

“Giles?” Plaintive, broken. But she _knew_ him. She _recognized_ him!

He yanked her forward, hugging her with all his might, hiding his tears in her flimsy nightshirt. She hugged him back, crying just as hard into his jacket. “You remember.”

The reply was soft and shaky, uncertain and fearful. “Yeah. I remember.”


	6. Project Arcanum

“Juushirou?”

The Japanese wizard did not respond, staring at the space where the Muggle had been. A Portkey…she’d had a Portkey… Her companions almost certainly possessed Portkeys of their own. Frowning, he turned. “Can you track her?”

His three wand-wielding companions converged on the Muggle’s kitchen, discussing their options in a low tone. The Swedish witch flicked her wand, scowling at the results; the men traded looks, then divided, their wands flying in a synchronous pattern designed to defeat the masking spell that had apparently been on the Portkey.

Black brows rose into Juushirou’s hairline – masking spells on a _Portkey_? Only the most _elite_ Aurors were authorized to use untraceable Portkeys. When all three of his wand-wielding subordinates shook their heads, the wizard’s world rocked once more. A goblin-made Portkey, it had to be. Their quarry was an elite Auror who’d gained a _goblin’s_ trust. Impossible.

“If they all possess such Portkeys,” the Maori sorcerer murmured.

“Yes,” Juurshirou agreed. To gain a goblin’s trust was to have them at your back. And only a _fool_ would _knowingly_ cross a goblin. He glanced around at the Muggle home, wary and uneasy. There had been no wards on the dwelling, no signs that they were attacking one of _goblin_ favor. But Gringotts was unlikely to accept that as mitigation. “Let us depart,” the Emperor’s Wizard decided. “Once we have begun the audit, we can investigate these Muggles further.”

* * * * *

Silver eyes narrowed as their owner regarded the man in his office. He folded his hands together under his chin, masking his emotions with the ease of long practice. “You believe this is our best course?”

The other inclined his head. “Have I your support?”

“Are you prepared to live with the consequences of your actions?”

“I am.” Firm and unyielding.

The Head Unspeakable considered, his fingertips tapping together as he thought. “Very well,” he finally announced. “Cast your die and come what may.”

A smile and an approving nod. “I am pleased we have your approval, Head Unspeakable,” the wizard declared as he rose to leave.

The white-haired man waited until the door shut behind his visitor.

“I said nothing of approval.”

* * * * *

Juushirou studied their guide as Third Advisor Snyder led them to the room set aside for the ICW delegation’s investigation. Though he’d half-expected an inquiry regarding the information the man had so _clearly_ arranged to be given to them, aside from the typical morning pleasantries, the Ministry official had said nothing. Disturbing. If nothing else, the wizard should’ve been blustering and indignant that a Canadian Auror had been attacked in her home. Unless he didn’t know…but why wouldn’t he?

The Japanese wizard’s musing came to a halt when Snyder turned to face them, gesturing at the door nearby. “All relevant documents are in this room, gentle-wizards,” the official said. He reached into his robes, pulling out several plastic badges.

“We have our own,” Juushirou demurred.

“Yes, quite so,” the other man agreed. “However, the Minister suggested these would permit immediate identification, should you need to interview our Unspeakables or front-line Aurors. Though I am loathe to admit such, some of them have an alarming tendency to cast first, ask questions later.”

Still skeptical, but unwilling to antagonize the advisor, Juushirou accepted the stack of badges and passed them out to his subordinates. “Then we thank you, Third Advisor Snyder,” he said politely. “Should we require further assistance, we shall not hesitate to seek you out.”

“Excellent. Excellent.” With one final bow, Snyder ushered them into the room and departed. As soon as he was gone, the ICW wizards raised a series of anti-surveillance wards and turned to their task.

* * * * *

“Well?”

“Finish the preparations and alert me when you’re ready.”

* * * * *

It was perhaps ironic that his Swedish counterpart discovered the first file – she’d been even more horrified than he over the idea of _Muggle_ Aurors. Her soft exclamation drew all of their attention, curiosity shining.

“What have you found?” Juushirou asked.

The King’s Witch laid her findings on the one clear desk in the room. The file appeared to be a standard one – Statute of Secrecy breach by two young purebloods…Muggle witnesses in law enforcement… Reason, what was the reason?

“That cannot _possibly_ be accurate,” the Norwegian King’s Wizard cried.

“But it is,” the witch replied. “They _used_ our world to save _their_ people’s lives.”

The Australian snorted. “Can you blame them? Any Auror would do the same if the situation was reversed.”

True, very true. Juushirou lifted a hand before the arguing could get out of control. “Except for the Muggle officers, was the Statute breached?”

The Swede shook her head. “No, sir. The pureblood children fed the Muggle civilians a cock and bull story about secret passages and they bought it.”

Or, Juushirou thought wryly, they had simply let the children get away with their fairy tale, much as most adults would. He did not voice his thoughts though…four years meant the Muggle civilians had long faded into the wind. “Are there other files?”

The Maori sorcerer cleared his throat. “There may be,” he replied, carefully formal. “Should we search for them?”

Juushirou considered. “Yes,” he decided. “If this Ministry is _fool_ enough to hire _Muggles_ , then our investigation is all but complete already. The Supreme Mugwump will require as much evidence as we can provide.”

* * * * *

“Has the word been passed?”

“Yes, sir, but Onasi is late.”

“Blast. All right, we’ll wait for him to get here. Once he arrives, send me word _immediately_. And see if you can find out why he’s late.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * * *

“What have you found?”

Still sputtering, the Australian laid out his two files. “The first one,” he breathed, “it’s a farce, a fraud, it _must_ be. No Muggle could beat a _wizard_.”

Juushirou rolled his eyes and plucked the file away, skimming the information within. Impressive…if it was true. “For now, let us assume all we read is accurate. If Canadian Aurors are so _inept_ as to lose to _Muggles_ , then they certainly cannot adequately guard their borders or enforce our laws.”

Murmurs of agreement rose.

“What of the second file?”

A disbelieving grunt. “It claims the Muggles spent several days at the Auror Academy and even beat the instructors at their own games, concluding their stay by arresting their instructors for assault.”

“Assault?”

Anger glinted for the first time. “They attacked both the Muggles and their own students. If true, these… _instructors_ …richly deserved their arrest.”

“The Muggles sought to protect _wizards_?” The Maori sorcerer’s expression was incredulous, but Juushirou was more thoughtful. It would make sense…you could hardly have Aurors who would _not_ protect the citizenry.

* * * * *

“Where have you been?” Madame Locksley demanded.

Giles gave her a haunted look, stilling her anger even before he spoke. “The safe house,” he whispered, darting glances left and right.

Dear Merlin… “What happened?”

“ _They_ attacked Jules,” her Auror hissed, fury blazing. Rage faltered, revealing the terror in his eyes. “She got away.”

“The rest of them?”

“Getting their families out of town and figuring out which of their houses are the most defensible,” came the blunt reply. “Any one tries again, they’ll get a bullet between the eyes, ma’am. Commander Holleran wants to know if you knew this could happen back when you talked him into letting them stay in our world.” Though unspoken, it was clear her Auror _also_ wanted the answer to that question.

“I never considered it,” Locksley admitted, meeting Onasi’s gaze. “The ICW almost never audits countries and we had a good record – or so I _thought_.” She shook her head. “And you know about the Squib Squad.”

Precedent. At least she’d presumed so…

Giles made a startled noise, the anger beginning to die down. He studied her desk for a long minute. “What do we do, ma’am?”

“ _We_ will do nothing, Auror Onasi.” Anne Locksley’s expression turned grim as she turned away. “Brian and I made the call to let them stay in our world. I will take full responsibility.”

“But _Commander_ …”

“Giles, promise me you’ll protect them.” He didn’t respond and she twisted around, gifting him a dangerous glare. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

_“Time to pick a side…”_

_I thought I had._

* * * * *

Juushirou stared blankly at his discovery, horror, terror, and nausea swirling in his gut. He hardly registered his subordinates’ worried expressions; his hands shook and regret lodged in his chest. _What have I done?_ Elite Aurors who’d gained the favor of goblins…what on _Earth_ had made him think they were mere Muggles? What had possessed him to order an _attack_ on one of them? Not one wizard in a hundred could have attempted what they had. Not one wizard in a _thousand_ could have _succeeded_.

“Juushirou?” the Swede asked, resting a hand on his forearm.

He glanced up, but the words would not come. He laid out the file instead. When his subordinates had finished reading, when the exclamations of horror and dismay had died away, he spoke at last. “Snyder used us.”

No one argued.

“Had we seen this evidence we _never_ would have attacked _Auror_ Callaghan at all, never mind in her _home_.” Fury rang. “We have been _manipulated_ and I will not have it.” He gestured to the rest of the office. “Tear these files apart and discover what this _Ministry_ seeks to hide from us. And find out what happened to this _Moffet_.”

* * * * *

Alarms blared throughout the Canadian Ministry of Magic as smoke poured from the vents. The evacuation was orderly, wizards and witches using the stairs instead of the elevators to reach the lobby. Portkeys were passed out and grouped around, as many wizards as possible using each of the ropes. Despite the deepening gloom, the wizard in charge of the evacuation waited until every last Ministry worker or visitor was around a Portkey.

“Arcanum,” he ordered, activating all the Portkeys with a single word. Then he smiled.

* * * * *

On a deserted island, miles away from both the mainland and any shipping lanes, the air was still and calm. Although its location was known, the island was uninhabited, left to its own devices by virtue of its lack of useful qualities. A curious fox, sniffing around for his breakfast, was, therefore, the only witness to the sudden arrival of a group of five wizards.

Juushirou Ukitake bit back several ungracious words as he landed, thankfully on his feet despite the Portkey that had been embedded in his Ministry of Magic provided badge. A swift glance around verified that his fellow investigators had all been transported along with him, no doubt thanks to their own badges.

“What the devil?” the Norwegian King’s Wizard blurted, his dismay clear.

“Do they think to defy the ICW?” a furious female voice concurred. The Swedish King’s Witch.

“Quiet,” Juushirou ordered, his magical senses tingling. No sooner had he spoken, then they heard the soft boom of air being displaced by dozens of wizards as the evacuation Portkeys and their passengers appeared. Less than a second later, Juushirou felt the wards snap into place. Anti-transportation wards, if he was any judge.

* * * * *

“Report.”

Monroe Snyder bowed to the Minister. “Project Arcanum is a complete success, Minister.”

Relief shone in the politician’s eyes. “Well done, Monroe, well done indeed.”

“Thank you, sir,” the advisor replied, pleasure evident. “Thank you very much.”

“No, no, it is I who must thank you,” Benedict Fudge insisted. “Your plan has been nothing short of pure genius.” He pulled a bottle of wine from his desk. “A toast,” he proposed. “To the future of Magical Canada.”

Snyder smiled, a tight, confident line stretching across his face. “You’re too kind, sir. It’s really quite a shame it’s come to this.”

Fudge paused in the middle of pouring a second glass. “Eh?”

“ _Avada Kedavra_.”

Without turning away from the body, Snyder asked, “The Muggles?”

“Dealt with.”

“Excellent.” Distaste crossed the former advisor’s face. “Remove that and finish the _Fidelius_.”

“Yes, sir.”


	7. Need a Hand?

Giles Onasi had come to expect the worst from his life. It never failed…no sooner did something good happen, then it was yanked away, often violently. His wife, his son…Revan… Frankly, he’d been expecting more of the same from Brian’s vaunted Team One. A betrayal perhaps, or them getting in over their heads on a magic-side call. Something. And while the Muggles he’d ‘inherited’ certainly got themselves into plenty of trouble, seemingly on a daily basis, they also got themselves _out_ of that trouble with barely a flicker of concern. Days, weeks, and _months_ went by without anything fatal happening to them. Or him.

Instead he’d seen Nick Watson taken down at _last_. Seen enough tragedy and lives lost to choke him, drive him to drink and an early grave…except for those darn Muggles. They never backed down, never gave up, and somehow, some way, they’d _infected_ him with their enthusiasm, their drive to _save_ lives. Thanks to them, he’d finally gotten himself a new partner – one who’d promptly stood back to back with him against a war between worlds. He’d let himself start to hope…let himself start to dream…

Roy’s near-death had shattered him all over again. Then his son’s reappearance and arrest had taken the pieces of his soul and ground them to dust. It never failed…never… Parker might’ve snatched life from the jaws of death and gotten Dustil a lighter sentence, but that just delayed the inevitable. Reflexively, he’d started pulling away from Roy and Team One. He couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t take losing the people he cared about. If he stopped caring, if he walked away…maybe they’d live…maybe he wouldn’t be their downfall… _His_ curse wouldn’t become _their_ curse.

He’d just been fooling himself. Somewhere along the line, he’d found himself with a new family and it didn’t matter that half of them didn’t possess an ounce of magic. Ironic, actually, that they didn’t. Because he wasn’t an idiot. Deserted island in the middle of nowhere with Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey wards. Too far from civilization to use a Patronus, he’d bet his annual salary on it. Magic couldn’t do a bloody thing to save the day. Not this time.

Only a few meters away, the ICW delegation yammered away, trying to plot their way out of this mess with magic. Idiots. Around them, the sheeple were listening avidly, bobbing their heads in time with each declaration and theoretical solution. He could see Simmons, the elder Auror’s expression just as disdainful as he felt, but saying nothing. Why bother when you couldn’t offer any hope of your own?

He could though…but should he? If he kept his mouth shut, his people would be safe. They’d never know what happened to him, but they’d be safe. If they needed magical backup, they had Merlin… _Merlin_. They didn’t need him, never had, never _would_. Giles looked around, considering. It wasn’t such a bad place. Magic could at least turn the island into a half-decent exile, even if they could never go home. He wasn’t happy at the thought of spending the rest of his life on a deserted island, but maybe that was for the best. The needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few.

“Giles.”

The Auror turned, one eyebrow hiking at his superior.

“Do you have your phone?” she whispered.

“ _Now_ you want their help?” he hissed back. “ _Now_?”

Locksley grabbed his jacket, twisting the leather and dragging him close. “I want you to _think_ ,” she spat. “The ICW didn’t pluck Callaghan’s address out of _thin air_ …they got it from someone in the Ministry.” His blood ran cold. “If they have _her_ address, they have _all_ their addresses. So I’m going to ask you _again_ , Auror Onasi. Do you have your phone?”

He met her eyes and jerked his chin at the delegation. “Only if I get to talk to them.”

Anger glittered, but she didn’t argue. “Make it quick.”

The brunet made a point of straightening his jacket and giving his boss one last glare before he marched across the sand towards the ICW wizards. One of them, the white-haired Japanese wizard, was proposing some sort of Patronus relay, having several Patroni piggy-back on another Patronus to increase their theoretical range. His sycophants nodded quite seriously, one of them asking for volunteers to try their idea out.

“So you’re gonna breach the Statute of Secrecy _yourselves_?” Onasi sneered. “Oh, wait, you’re ICW reps…the rules _don’t apply_ to you.”

“Explain yourself,” white-hair ordered.

“Two days,” Giles bit out. “You’re supposed to _investigate_ before you start jumping to conclusions and _attacking our people_. Not take advantage of our two day grace period to assault an Auror in her bed!”

“A mistake on our part.” Calm, unconcerned.

“A _mistake_?” he repeated incredulously. “You call _Obliviating_ one of the best Aurors in the whole bloody Division a _mistake_?”

“Calm yourself,” the European witch said. “What’s done is done. We must deal with our current situation before casting stones.”

Jules’ blank eyes and blanker expression. Her shaking voice as she told him what had happened. The tears soaking his dragonhide jacket as she wept – _his_ tears soaking her nightshirt until both were a soggy mess. Parker’s incandescent fury when he’d taken a shaking, still sobbing Jules to the Sergeant because he was already late and needed to get to work before Locksley roasted him alive.

Rage boiled – how _dare_ they? How _dare_ they dismiss what his teammate…his _friend_ …had gone through at their hands? Giles laughed, a bitter, twisting bark. “You want me to let it go? You want me to just forget it?” He sniffed, pushing back fresh tears.

White-hair stepped forward. “For now, yes,” he confirmed, serenity in every line, every syllable.

The _crack_ of fist against cheekbone was so satisfying it hurt.

“That,” Onasi snarled, “was for _Jules_.” He shook his fist out as he stepped away from his fallen opponent. “Now,” he raised his voice, “Pardon me while I save all our skins.” The magical smartphone blipped as he tapped its buttons, lifted it to his ear, and stalked away from the crowd of horrified wizards. “Hey, Roy. Yeah, I know I’m late…”

A sardonic grin.

“Well, he’s just gonna have to wait. Listen, could you head for the barn?”

A pause.

“Roy, Roy, really, I need you to head for the barn and get ahold of Spike. Yeah, Spike.”

The Auror suppressed a sigh, letting his shoulders slump and his head hang.

“I kinda need him to trace my location.”

Another pause.

“Well, Roy, telling you I’m on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean doesn’t exactly make for good directions, now does it?”

Laughter, short and bitter.

“Copy that, partner. I owe you one. Call me once you get to the barn.” He hung up slowly, gripping the phone tightly. “Not now, Simmons.”

“Wasn’t going to say anything,” Simmons drawled.

The elder Auror gazed out at the horizon, not speaking, just waiting. He was good at that, always had been. Quite an effective tactic and one Giles had often fallen prey to. But two could play at that game. Minutes ticked by around the two men, Onasi doing nothing more than scrubbing any hint of tears off his face and checking his phone every few seconds.

At last, Simmons grunted. “Not bad, rookie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How bad?”

Giles stiffened, but knew better than to play dumb. “If I thought it would keep them safe, I’d hurl this thing so far out, no one could find it.” As he spoke, his hands tightened around his phone.

“She going to be okay?”

Haunted brown eyes turned to meet Simmons’ nearly black ones. “She remembers, but I haven’t got a clue _how_. They got her, she said they did, and when I got there…”

He trailed off, but Simmons understood. “By Morgana and the Morrigan,” he cursed under his breath. “Will they even _want_ …” The words choked in the older man’s throat.

Giles’ phone rang before he could answer. “Onasi,” he answered briskly. Relief shone. “Spike.”

* * * * *

Spike whistled as he ran the trace, eyebrows climbing as he stared at his map, the signal bouncing off so many different towers that it appeared as if Giles was trying to _obscure_ his location…like a subject. But that wasn’t the reason at all… “How are you even getting a _signal_? You’re _way_ off the grid.”

“Thank you, Auror Scarlatti, that makes me feel _so_ much better,” Onasi snarked, unaware that the tech had his phone on speaker in the middle of the briefing room table.

“Spike.” Confidence and expectation rang in equal measure.

“Gettin’ there, Boss,” the constable replied. “Giles can’t hide from _me_ … _There!_ ”

Lou leaned over his friend’s shoulder. “South, southwest of Burgeo, Boss. Two hundred kilometers, at least.”

“Not exactly the middle of the ocean,” Spike added, “But not too far off, either.”

Roy, crowding in from the other side, blurted, “Jeez, they’re not even in _Ontario_ anymore!”

“Where are they?” Donna asked before either Parker or Onasi could.

“Newfoundland,” Lou reported. “Spike, is that…?” he asked, tracing something on the screen.

“Yeah, buddy. Airport.” Spike dropped his playful attitude. “We might be able to get a rescue out there.”

“Excellent work, Constable Scarlatti,” Commander Holleran praised. “I’ll contact law enforcement up there and start the wheels turning.” He paused, surveying his officers. “Teams One and Three, go home and pack. You’re the most familiar with magic; now is _not_ the time to let the Official Secrets Act collapse.”

“Yes, sir,” Parker agreed, right before Roy questioned plaintively, “What about me?”

Spike glanced from his superiors to the detective and back, sympathizing. That was Roy’s _partner_ out there, but Roy’s Sarge still had no idea one of his detectives was a _wizard_. Covering for Giles while they arranged a rescue was one thing, but if _Roy_ was part of the rescue…

The Boss knew it too, judging from the mix of sympathy and resignation on his face. He opened his mouth, only to halt as Commander Holleran gestured for him to stand down. “Pack your bags, Detective; I’ll handle Sergeant Gamboli.”

Dumbfounded delight blazed. “Yes, _sir!_ ”

* * * * *

Holleran mentally sighed as the phone was picked up with a brisk, “Sergeant Gamboli speaking.”

“Sergeant? Commander Norm Holleran…”

“SRU,” the other man finished. “Tell those screwballs they got half an hour to get back here and they’d better have one _heck_ of a good explanation for this.”

“I’m afraid, Sergeant, they won’t be able to meet your deadline.”

“Why’s that?” Slow, wary.

One shoulder hiked. “Well, given that Detective Onasi is currently stranded on an island up in Newfoundland and Detective Lane is in the middle of grabbing his go bag so he can join the rescue mission…” The commander trailed off, letting his sentence hang.

Dead silence and Holleran was fairly sure he heard a _thunk_ from the other side of the phone…one he hoped hadn’t been something breakable. Idly, the commander glanced at his clock, timing the other officer’s recovery. A good three minutes later, he finally heard some token sputtering and furious mutters, but nothing resembling actual words. Speech took another forty seconds; Holleran winced at the impressive and explicit cursing before he pulled the phone away from his ear and waited for it to die down.

He pulled the phone back just in time to hear, “What the _hell_ is going on?!?”

“We’re not completely sure yet,” Holleran admitted baldly. “We ourselves had no idea what was occurring until Detective Lane arrived with Detective Onasi’s request that Constable Scarlatti trace his phone’s location. As I’m sure you’re aware, Detective Onasi works for both 12th Division and another division.”

A grunt. “I know; even had to sign off on _Lane_ working for ‘em part-time. How in tarnation does his ‘classified’ division lead to that idiot ending up over a thousand miles from Toronto _overnight_?”

Holleran winced again, but both Roy and – surprisingly – Sergeant Parker had been _adamant_ that Sergeant Gamboli be kept in the dark regarding magic. He might’ve overridden them if not for the fact that he’d heard the detective mutter something about genocide under his breath. Parker, who had better hearing than _he_ did, hadn’t been surprised. Just sad. Holleran, no fool, had put two and two together and come up with the Embassy attack. Which meant the commander had some very careful maneuvering to do.

“Again, we’re not completely sure what’s going on,” Holleran reiterated. “When we get a more complete picture, I’ll be sure to update you, but for now, all I can tell you is that Detective Lane and Teams One and Three are enroute to Burgeo to rescue Detective Onasi and a number of his colleagues from Division 9¾.”

Laughter tumbled down the line. “Division 9¾? They seriously call themselves that?”

Commander Holleran allowed a tight chuckle of his own. “I believe it started as a joke of sorts, but it seems to have stuck.”

Another chortle, then the Sergeant turned deadly serious. “There’s more to this, isn’t there? Lane must think I’m a blithering idiot – Onasi can’t drive, can barely text, and treats everyone who isn’t Lane like a suspect.”

Holleran arched a brow. “Half of my officers are still getting used to texting, Sergeant Gamboli and as for his behavior…” The commander trailed off, mentally wincing. “Detective Onasi lost his own partner some years ago – the man who killed his partner also murdered his wife and kidnapped his young son. Trust issues…were expected.”

“Why isn’t that in his _file_?”

“Detective Onasi’s immediate superior made that call,” Holleran replied readily, tossing Locksley under the bus without a flicker of regret. “At the time, I disagreed with her decision, but I was overruled.”

“You tell her I want the whole story or I’m yanking Lane’s clearance.”

Holleran offered the Sergeant a few more reassurances and hung up. Alone in his office, he rubbed his forehead and muttered, “I think it’s already been yanked.”

* * * * *

Greg swallowed hard as he swung up into the helicopter, vaguely grateful that none of his team said anything about the ashen tone to his skin. Ed had suggested he stay behind, but one glance at Jules and Sam had nixed that idea…she was paler than he was and Sam was so furious that _someone_ was going to get hurt unless Parker was present to intervene.

Although Greg was just as angry at the ICW delegation’s attack on one of his _own_ , they had bigger fish to fry. Like dealing with whoever had sent just about every last upper rank Auror to a deserted island in the middle of nowhere and hidden the Canadian Ministry of Magic so well that even the _house-elves_ had no idea how to get back. Frankly, the negotiator suspected the only wizards left in the Ministry were loyal to the rogue Minister.

“You sure about this, Sergeant?”

Twisting around in his seat, Greg met Sabine’s concern with a calm smile and nod. “Your team can handle things on this end, Donna. You might not have worked with them as long as we have, but you’re still familiar. That’s what they’ll need once they land here.”

“Copy.” Sabine stepped back, lifting her hand in both salute and farewell. “Get your man, Boss.”

Parker fastened his seat belt, clinging to his ‘team sense’ and squeezing his eyes shut as the helicopter rose, its nose tipping forward as the pilot took them forward and out to sea, searching for a deserted island serving as a makeshift prison.

* * * * *

Blades whirred, the engine powering those blades humming away in the background. Through the front windscreen, a small, deserted island appeared out of the water and slowly grew larger as the craft approached it. The pilot glanced over at the copilot, confusion flashing across his face.

“We got LEOs **(2)** out here?” he asked incredulously over the helicopter’s intercom.

“Yeah,” one of the backseaters called. “We got civilians out here, too.”

Pilot and copilot traded skeptical looks…looks that vanished as they drew close enough to see a group of people on the island’s shore, all of them dressed in archaic clothing and most of them gawping up at the helicopter approaching. The pilot tipped the chopper’s nose farther forward, increasing speed now that he was _sure_ they weren’t on a wild goose chase, way out in the middle of nowhere.

There was a soft gasp from behind the two pilots and the distinct sound of someone grabbing hold of the rear cabin’s brace bar; the pilot smirked to himself. So it _was_ true…the negotiator rumored to be skilled enough to talk down a lit stick of dynamite was afraid of flying. The smirk grew wider as the helicopter’s nose tipped even farther forward, even as he slowed down to begin the descent.

“Burgeo Tower, Ranger Two Eight Nine Alpha Uniform, we got ‘em, over,” he reported over the radio.

“Two Eight Nine Alpha Uniform, Burgeo Tower. Confirm evacuation numbers, over.”

“Roger, Burgeo Tower. Looks like we got approximately seventy individuals requiring evac, over.”

Silence hovered over the radio, but the pilot was unconcerned. It would take headquarters some time to figure out how to evacuate all the stranded civilians. He took the ‘copter downwards, angling for a small strip of ground that jutted out into the water, a strip _just_ large enough to serve as an impromptu landing pad. A grin crossed his face, one that was shared with his copilot at the relieved sigh that came from one of their passengers as they touched down.

Only two of the stranded civilians came over to the helicopter as the passengers disembarked. The eavesdropping pilot arched a curious brow as a blonde woman with more than a bit of gray in her bedraggled hair spoke to their aviophobic passenger, her voice both sorrowful and resigned.

“Looks like we’re part of your world now, Sergeant.”

From the return look Parker gave her, the pilot realized he was watching a woman who’d just lost…everything. The lump in his throat was almost impossible to swallow.

[2] Law Enforcement Officers


	8. The Toronto Auror Division

Greg evaluated Onasi for a split second before turning his full attention to Madame Locksley. Tired, sporting bruised knuckles, and wary, but unharmed. Locksley radiated shame and regret along with no small amount of anger that wasn’t directed at him. Gently, Parker maneuvered his superior far enough away from the helicopter to talk without shouting, trusting his team to coordinate with the pilot and begin the evacuation. “Talk to me,” he urged.

“About what, Auror Sergeant Parker? How I betrayed your team again, perhaps? How I should’ve realized this might happen? How…”

He cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Unless you gave them Jules’ address yourself, I don’t see any betrayal.” Considering, he spoke his next words slowly, choosing each with care. “And I seem to remember asking you if you regretted bringing my team into your world.”

“I didn’t, I don’t,” she whispered. “Sergeant, I never _dreamed_ we’d bring the ICW down on top of us.”

Greg shook his head, dismissing the ICW. “What happened?”

Sorrow shimmered in her eyes, moisture gleaming. “The evacuation alarms went off. Usually it’s just a drill.”

“But today it wasn’t?”

“No. Smoke…there was smoke pouring out of the vents. I kept my Aurors together and we made sure all the other Ministry employees were in the lobby, grouped around their Portkeys before we took ours.” A shuddering breath. “Five Portkeys for my people.”

“How many on each Portkey?”

“Maximum of twenty, but really as many as we could fit. Three…three came here.”

“Who was on the other two from your Division?”

“Lower ranking staff, with one or two mid-ranking Aurors to keep them safe.”

Parker nodded, then met his superior’s eyes. “How many _didn’t_ travel here?”

Frustration and fury twisted her jaw. “Seven.”

“We’ll need names, descriptions, but not right now.”

“Un…understood, Sergeant.”

The negotiator allowed his sympathy to show, trusting that Madame Locksley wouldn’t mistake it for pity, and shifted his position to better shield the woman from observation. As the highest ranking officer on-scene, she couldn’t afford to break down – a breather was the best he could offer. For a moment, she cocked her head, trying to read him, then a tiny, grateful smile emerged. Unspoken gratitude lightened gray eyes an instant before they hardened and narrowed.

“Madame Locksley.”

A foreign accent; Greg’s entire frame tensed and he held very, very still. With his bulk hiding Locksley from view, only he saw her draw her wand. Without turning away from her subordinate, Locksley asked, “What is it, Mr. Ukitake?”

“I wish to lodge a formal complaint against your Auror…”

“…Onasi,” Madame Locksley finished smoothly.

Parker glanced sideways, restraining a whistle at the shiner darkening the Japanese wizard’s eye. From the general direction of the helicopter, he heard Sam congratulate Giles, though there was an edge to Braddock’s voice. Jealousy.

“Certainly, I can make a note of your formal complaint against my Auror,” Madame Locksley informed the wizard. “Of course, I would _also_ have to record his…motivation…for assaulting you. And file a complaint of my own with the Supreme Mugwump for _your_ attack on _my_ Auror.”

“A Muggle,” another accented voice sneered. Greg turned his head, negotiator mask so firmly in place that he appeared disinterested and unconcerned by the conversation. A Swedish witch stood next to the Japanese wizard, her disdain for ‘Muggle’ Aurors clear.

“Enough,” the Japanese wizard interceded, his back straight and voice unruffled. “There was clearly no harm done, seeing as Auror Callaghan is present, therefore your Auror’s assault on my person was unnecessary and misplaced.”

“My constable was attacked in her _home_ and you think there was no harm done?” The mask dropped away, gryphon rage blazing in topaz-hard eyes. A growl rumbled, subliminal, but it rattled the air nonetheless. “Frankly, sir, you’re _lucky_ Giles got to you before my _team_ did.”

“A team of Muggles.” The Swede really needed to shut up, before her arrogant attitude got her into hot water – if Locksley was angry and Parker was furious, Holleran was salivating at the opportunity to charge Jules’ attackers with kidnapping and assault under techie law.

“Sarge?”

Dismissing the ICW delegation, Parker turned to his constable, arching an inquiring brow.

“Burgeo is sending their second rescue ‘copter out here,” Wordy reported. “Between the two of ‘em, we can get everybody outta here in another three hours, but it’s going to take six trips.”

“Ed figure out a priority list yet?”

A nod. “Yeah, he wants Simmons and his squad on the first chopper back; they know Team Three and they can help keep a lid on things back at the airport. VIPs on the second chopper once it gets here, then the rest of us. He’s got us slated for the last trip.”

“Good work; tell Eddie to run with it.”

“Copy.”

Wordy shifted his weight back, about to head back to his team leader, when Ukitake spied him. “Lord Wordsworth.”

Both SRU officers froze, then Wordy’s gaze swung to the foreign wizard, gray eyes icy. “Something you want?”

Ukitake surveyed the wary men, noting how close they stood to one another and how the British Lord deferred to his…superior. “I understand you only recently acquired your Headship.” A stiff nod. “And yet you hold the same position as you did _before_ your discovery?”

Greg fidgeted, feeling Wordy’s indignation surge, anger spiking at the insinuation that his heritage and status within magical society should dictate which job he held. “Wordy.” The word was too soft for Ukitake to hear, but Parker saw his constable twitch. Message received.

“You think I should’ve gotten a better job, is that it?”

Ukitake, catching the anger, wisely said nothing.

“Maybe I _like_ saving lives and keeping the peace, ever thought of that?” Wordy stepped forward, managing to loom over the wizard though they were both nearly the same height. “Maybe I _like_ being a ‘Muggle’ instead of looking down my nose at anyone different and attacking my _own teammates_.” He jabbed a finger into the Japanese man’s chest. “You come after my team again and I’ll wipe the floor with what’s _left_ of you, understand?”

“Constable Wordsworth, stand down,” Greg ordered.

Fuming, Wordy backed up. “Yes, Boss.”

“Dismissed,” the Sergeant added, waiting until Wordy stalked away before glancing at Ukitake. “My team won’t touch you, Mr. Ukitake; I won’t let them. But understand this. We’re here for our colleagues in the Canadian Auror Division, _not_ you. You get a ride home because you’re with them. And my team doesn’t leave people behind.”

To his surprise, Ukitake’s expression turned intent, studying him so keenly that Parker had to wonder for a fleeting second if the wizard had x-ray vision. “You carry goblin made phones.” It was not a question. “Your phones have untraceable Portkeys embedded in them, something only elite Aurors are permitted to use.” A chill ran down Greg’s back. “You have a British Lord on your team, obeying even those commands he dislikes, and your people have gained the favor of Gringotts.” Somehow, the Sergeant didn’t think Ukitake was referring to his _nipotes_ ’ status as Goblin-Friend. “And yet, when pressed, you do not invoke your political power or the goblins’ wrath.”

The unspoken question hovered between them and Greg’s first response was…uncharacteristic. But it felt right. Meeting Ukitake’s stare head on, he replied, “Because I believe in a free Narnia.”

To his shock, Ukitake nodded slowly, then bowed, tilting his head down until it was at an embarrassing, humiliating level of submission. “I have wronged one of yours, milord. Name your retribution and it will be yours.”

Greg Parker was not the only one to gawp at the white-haired Japanese wizard.

* * * * *

In the end, it wasn’t _just_ Greg’s idea or even his team’s idea. In fact, by the time Parker presented his ‘retribution’ demand, he wasn’t entirely sure whose idea it was or even if it was a _good_ idea, but he went with it nonetheless, trusting that his two commanders knew what they were doing. Ukitake was utterly astonished, but inclined his head in acceptance. “Very well, milord, it will be done, just as you have said.”

Parker fidgeted. “Why are you calling me a lord?” he blurted.

A faint smile. “In the eyes of my people, you are,” the Japanese wizard replied.

“If this is because Wordy’s a British Lord…” Greg began.

“It is not.” White hair frothed as Ukitake shook his head. “Before we were banished from the Ministry, we managed to find almost every single file it had on your team. I say _your_ team because we were never informed of your Team Three or Auror Onasi’s Muggle partner.” Parker swallowed and nodded. “I know about your charges, milord, as well as Lord Potter’s attempt to return them to Britain. Your success at that juncture granted you the status of Regent over the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin. And a Regent of an Ancient and Noble House is, by necessity, a Lord in their own right.”

“But I’m just…”

An upraised hand cut him off and Ukitake smiled, slowly and sadly. “No, you are not,” he refuted. “You have not been ‘just’ a police sergeant for some time, Lord Parker-Calvin.” The Japanese wizard turned away, changing the subject deftly. “What of the Ministry?”

“Commander Locksley believes it’s been hidden by a _Fidelius_. So long as none of our people know the secret, it’s impenetrable.” Parker scowled. “The Minister’s body was found floating in the river by a couple of uniforms, so whoever’s in charge is probably a Neo Death Eater.”

“Once they had the Ministry, they didn’t need him anymore,” Ukitake murmured.

“Yes, sir.”

“This new division? The…what did you call it? The Toronto Auror Division?”

“Most of those evicted from the Ministry ended up scattered all over Magical Toronto. Once Locksley got word to her people, everything started rolling from there. We’ve got enough people to get things set up here and by next week, the branch offices all over Canada will be getting their new orders and reinforcements. We’ll be running thin for awhile, but Commander Holleran has Teams Two and Four covering.” The negotiator felt a rueful grin tug at his jaw. The word ‘magic’ had yet to be uttered, but that was about all – virtually the entire SRU was in on the secret and they were enjoying every minute of it.

* * * * *

Juushirou Ukitake inclined his head, reading between the lines of Lord Parker-Calvin’s report with ease. The Muggles knew. The Statute of Secrecy, a cornerstone of the magical world since the days of Camelot and the witch hunts, was falling. The entire purpose of the ICW was falling. Surprising how unconcerned he was with that fact.

“We will return then and advise the ICW to act against Canada’s Ministry of Magic, judging them to be a rogue Ministry under the control of Dark Wizards. Once the Ministry’s rule is revoked, the secret that hides them should become…irrelevant.”

“Thank you.”

Ukitake shook his head. “Do not thank me yet,” he replied. “It will be some time before the ICW acts on our recommendation. Perhaps as much as a year. Can your people hold for that long?”

“Yes.” Unshakable confidence.

Silence hung between them a minute longer. “Your retribution was quite…unexpected. As retribution you demand I do my job.”

The Muggle shrugged, discomfort plain.

“My honor would demand that of me anyway, Lord Parker-Calvin,” Juushirou observed. “So I will choose my own punishment.”

A startled, terrified jerk. Almost insulting, the unspoken fear that his people would be targeted again.

Juushirou drew a pendent out of his kimono, regarding it steadily. The state of Lord Parker-Calvin’s magic had been impossible to miss – that the other man could survive the unstable balance for much longer was…uncertain. Sooner or later, something would give. The pendent could be a gift – or a curse. He should not offer it, but his honor demanded it. His Oath demanded it.

“This pendent has been passed down in my family for generations,” Juushirou said quietly. “An heirloom and a lesson, that what is poison to some is healing to others.” He turned to Lord Parker-Calvin and bowed, offering the pendent. “May it be healing when you most need it.”

Parker hesitated, regarding the shimmering jewel warily. At last, he nodded and took the offering. “We good?”

Juushirou straightened and inclined his head. “I will gather my fellow delegates and return to the Supreme Mugwump with our report.”

Striding away, the white-haired wizard paused, then whirled back to Parker.

An eyebrow was cocked in his direction.

“Aslan Bless, Sergeant Parker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a RL note, I am now into my third week of being on 'bench', which is how my company refers to those individuals unfortunate enough to be released from one project without another project in the wings. I have been hoping and praying that my next project will not require me to move from the suburb of Dallas, Texas where I have been living for the past year and a half, but it appears the answer may be No.
> 
> Nothing is set in stone yet, but I received a phone call last night from my manager on my previous project and he told me that there is an opportunity in Pega (the programming application that I work with) in Austin, Texas. As that is quite a distance from Dallas, I obviously would not be able to commute, so it appears as though a move may be in the works for me after all. I admit that I'm disappointed, as this would be starting over on a number of levels for me (doctors, church, socially) and I would have to break my lease (yes, I understand that sometimes you have to break leases, but it still feels...dishonorable...to me), but if this is what the Lord wills, then I will accept that and move forward.
> 
> So, if you're willing, please pray for me that the Lord would make my path clear and that He would provide at each step to make my way smooth.


	9. Epilogue

“All things proceed as expected,” the Head Unspeakable remarked, regarding his visitor.

“Do they suspect…?”

“No. And they will not,” the shaggy, white-haired man reassured the other. “How fare Sergeant Parker and his associates?”

A small, secretive smile. “While not _officially_ in-the-know, the rest of the Strategic Response Unit is well aware of the situation and quite supportive of their fellows. They’ve even discreetly offered their commander ideas and suggestions on how to better…incorporate…their new colleagues into Toronto law enforcement.”

“The citizenry does not seem to have been affected by the change,” the Unspeakable observed.

“Aside from a few lingering issues, the citizens have adapted. The warnings through the _Toronto Oracle_ have been effective and the latest graduating class from the Auror Academy has been persistent in spreading the news to any along their beats. I predict another week before the whole of Magical Toronto has accepted the change.”

“Apart from a few stubborn holdouts of course.”

“Of course.” Comfortable silence draped the room before the visitor cleared his throat. “Other cities will take longer, but the process has started. I anticipate that in six months time, the Ministry will be…redundant.”

“Then it has begun.”

“Yes.” Merlin beamed. “Magic will return. My King has not risen, but Magic returns.”

“Are you certain he _will_ return?” the Unspeakable asked. “We are each granted but one life to live; that is true even for legends, Emrys.”

“The Once and _Future_ King,” Merlin replied. “Kilgharrah promised me Arthur would return one day.”

The Head Unspeakable sighed, but did not argue further. Instead he poured two glasses, handing one to Merlin. “A toast then, to Magic’s return.”

“And may it never again fade from the world of Men until the stars rain down from the sky,” Merlin whispered.

* * * * *

In the Lake of Avalon, Excalibur blazed as it was thrust up from below the waves by a chain-mailed glove, water dripping from the blade. Lightning struck, sending an unearthly screech through the world of the Living and the world of the Dead.

* * * * *

In the Darkness, Tash laughed. It was coming together. And when he struck, the great _cat’s_ Heirs would be vanquished forever. Along with _anyone_ who dared stand at their side.

_~Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And fade to black... The storm is beginning to gather and we'll have to see who's left standing once it strikes. *ominous drumroll*
> 
> Ahem, moving on. As always, I greatly appreciate anyone and everyone who's willing to take the time and effort to leave a review. My many thanks in advance. In the meantime, we'll be starting "Present Imperfect" on Tuesday, December 24th, 2019.
> 
> Merry Christmas and see you on the battlefield!


End file.
